Cute but Astute

One eve as I sat and watched TV,
As night had all but fallen on me.
Was reduced to a state of semi-comatose,
Something only TV programmes can impose.

But in the corner of my right eye,
I sensed something waddle right by.
Now this feeling I have sensed before,
But have always chosen to merely ignore.

Through the patio window,
A sniffing hedgehog loitered; real slow.
Now these creatures may seem really cute,
But a prickly defence makes them astute.

For if you approach them in any way,
They will make like a ball,
But with one you can’t play!
So if TV makes you dull and downtrodden,
Remember the garden you had long forgotten.

24th July 1998

Garden Spirit

The garden lawn, clean shaven and freshly mown.
Reflects the shadows of birds,
From where they’ve skimmed and fancifully flown.
An audacious pair of Robins red,
Dance before me, by their nesting bed.

Under dead grass, the top now revealed,
The moist green grass it once concealed.
Is that what lies under my skin?
Burgeoning youth trapped within.

I rest my head amongst evergreen,
To taste a life not yet forseen.
The trees and bushes we must control,
Else darkness clouds the lawn’s green soul.

For sun and shadow creep from one end t’other,
Shifting light across Earth, our Mother.
Through the course of just one summer’s day,
We see past, present, and then,
Come what may.

9th June 1998

Secret Garden

Flowers bloom in spectacular colour,
They fill a garden with natural wonder.
A sight, a smell so incredibly wondrous,
Next to grass, green and lustrous.

Set amidst a Tudor-style maze,
Ideal for creatures in which to laze.
A secret door beckons,
For those that look towards the heavens.

A might oak door stands aloof,
Luring the inquisitive garden sleuth.
Almost obscured by evergreen,
Hiding treasures that must be seen.

No secret keys or clues to find,
Not just a game of any kind.
No obvious stones in which to uncover,
Just three magic words for the garden lover.

So stand poised and softly utter,
Those magic words you shouldn’t just mutter.
For only those that have a clue,
Will move the oak, and walk on through.

Just think quietly and concentrate,
For the oak door is patient and can always wait.
Quiet meditation must be attained,
If paradise is to be found, then retained.

Once through, the mortal stands aghast,
Reviving dreams long since past.
Avenues of trees line up in majesty,
A heavenly sight for anyone to see.

Flowers dance along rolling green verges,
Resplendent in colour, aided by sunlit surges.
Garden furniture and ornaments abound,
For us to sit and gaze all around.

Birds of Paradise, their wings ablaze,
Like the phoenix it withstands heat and haze.
They usher you toward the garden’s centre,
A place of rest, a peaceful venture.

A crustal blue stream sparkles bright,
To guide you to a magnificent light.
An eternal fountain and its holy waters,
They heal Mothers, Fathers, Sons and Daughters.

At the end of the garden, pick one door from seven,
For only one provides that stairway to heaven.

26th May 1997